I'm here, and we are all ok. For an hour, though, it wasn't so cut and dry. Baby Birthin' 2011 was insane. Of course it couldn't be boring, average or without complications. That wouldn't be respectful of the last 10 years.
I will start by saying that the number 10 is a mighty number. She didn't want the 11th as a birthday. While it suits Nigel Tufnel, it isn't good enough for us. At 2 am early Sunday, April 10 morning, I went into labor from hell. Every contraction felt like a tear in the space-time continuum. In spite of the pain, I was in denial. I held off waking Brad until 4 am. Got to the hospital at 5:30 am and was told today was the day, after demonstrating some of the meatier contractions for the staff, followed by an attractive demo of bloody show. "Bloody show" meant massive cervical contraction followed by a sudden feeling of "fluid" laced with blood. Ew, ow.
By the way, I never knew that the real deal labor was so very different from Braxton-Hicks contractions. B-H is all uterine/softball belly and (for me) labor was massive cervical cramps that froze time and space for each contraction. Different.
After I was told it was go time, and I met the anesthesiologist, panic set in. I was in agony and they were taking their time getting the OR ready. I seriously can't stress enough how much respect I have for natural laborers. I felt like holy hell and never really dilated past fingertip (though the blood found a way through.) Then I began to panic that "oh crap, this baby has to be taken out... there's no turning back." Then I panicked about the epidural. Panic was the overall theme.
But it wasn't the c-section that was worthy of panic. The epidural was fine. The surgery was a breeze from my position. They found an enormous fibroid that was in the way, so it was removed. They tied my tubes, which was a moment of awe and elation, prompting my thoughts to, "haha, take that, girl parts!" The best part was when I heard the SUPER PISSED OFF scream from Veronica as she entered the air-breathing world. She was perfect. 7 lbs 3 oz, a far cry from the "enormous baby" they'd prepared me for. She's a dark-haired beauty with a light olive complexion (like me) and so far, blue eyes (like Brad and Lauren). She emerged alert and wary of all these people in blue outfits. And so daggum adorable (see evidence).
Brad and Veronica went to recovery while they finished and put me back together. I also have a lot of respect for Brad and all spouses/partners/coaches who see the gore on the other side of the magical blue curtain and don't run away screaming/faint/vomit/have nightmares the rest of their days. Though I wouldn't blame those reactions. Not sure I could have that strong a stomach.
So anyway, recovery room. Apparently, they were supposed to massage the uterus post-op. To my memory, no one did. This became an important issue hours later.
By the time I was wheeled into my room, the epidural drugs were wearing off. Puzzled faces when I reported this to the nurses and to the anestheiologist in the hallway. Apparently, I was supposed to have benefits of one drug for 12 hours afterwards. No, I was hurting and begged for pain drugs.
Several hours later...
I was in the bed, talking to Brad, when I suddenly felt a gush. Hmm. I took a peek under the sheet and lo and behold, I was in a pool of blood. I asked him to get the nurse.
The next hour was terrifying. Apparently, I'd developed clots in utero. They were large and prevented the uterus from shrinking as would normally occur. Plus, because I hadn't dilated in labor, there wasn't a means of escape as they grew. Instead, they inspired internal bleeding. Once I passed a clot, blood everywhere. Moses, himself, couldn't have navigated those red seas. But the one clot was small and there were many more. I was hemorrhaging. In moments, the room was full of medical staff, injecting this and that, wheeling in medical equipment, having very scary, serious faces. I heard my doctor say, "giant clots", "bleeding", "low blood pressure" and "pitocin". Seconds after the last word, the world stopped making sense. I'm not sure, but I think I opened a portal in my womb to a distant galaxy where pain is the only existence. I was in too much pain to even consider fear of death. I had no rational thoughts and no control over anything. I couldn't even black out. The OB had to "deliver" the clots, which involved reaching in and extracting. Somewhere in there, I bottomed out. Many more drugs later, and lots of shoving, pushing, pulling and bleeding, I was finally stablized. Though they kept intervals of painful uterine shoving for the rest of the night to make sure the evil clots were all gone.
WORST POSTPARTUM ACTIVITY EVER. I don't recommend. Try room service instead.
So here we are, one week later. I've recovered, Veronica is an unbelievably good baby. So sweet and calm. We've had some feeding difficulties, but through a combo of nursing, pumping andd the occasional formula bottle, we are getting there. She has a bit of jaundice and had to spend 8 hours under a bili lamp (which is heartbreaking to watch), but finally her levels are declining. Life is coming back to normal, in a bigger way.
In the end, it has all been worth it.
(However, if they'd just done the hysterectomy, the madness part could have been avoided. No one listens to me.)
